


A Future as Long as the Past

by Hectrex



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, Memory Loss, Old Age
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29770920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hectrex/pseuds/Hectrex
Summary: Mirage struggles with his own memories in a future where he's one of the few legends to live to old age.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	A Future as Long as the Past

**Author's Note:**

> C/W for mentions of death and memory loss. This was written during season 8 and is an Old Age AU exploring Mirage struggling in his last years.I hope to have respectfully reflected his mother's disease and I'm open to any suggestions if I've represented it incorrectly.

Isolation was the worst choice. A lodge deep in the woods on Talos was said to be a charming, relaxing getaway, where the elderly would surely rejuvenate themselves. For Witt, however, he didn't set up shop here a decade ago just so he could get some rest away from the city life. 

Elliott came here to die. 

Not in a sudden way, mind you, and not even in a way he originally expected. But slowly, ever so slowly, he was dying. 

He woke up on one of his last days to a sunset. Sleep came at its own pace, not that the time of day made much of a difference. Hours, minutes, meals, and TV shows all existed on their own time, but rarely on Elliott's. Some days were perfect and crisp, and the order of events made sense to him. Others fell apart at the seams, like his old shoes that had been worn down over the past couple of years. He'd make a note to send out for new ones, if he could just finish writing it. If he could care enough to ask for new ones. 

Elliott walked out onto the porch and sat down in his favorite chair. As usual, one of his holograms filled another seat close by, commenting on the news from the start of the day. The decoy started off with something that would definitely catch his interest. 

"Heard about that new business change?" 

Elliott obviously hadn't, but he played along, "Which one?" 

"Looks like Rampart Customs has traded hands to Ramya's daughters. Meanwhile, their mother is retiring to Salvo to look for old schematics from one of their lost gunsmiths." 

"Sounds like Rams. She never could put a wrench down. You really think she'd lean on someone else's designs, though?" 

"Nah, she went to the record... for the record? She told people that she wanted to put the legends to rest. Got tired of people saying her work would stand up to a Clint Original, so she said she'd find one and show everyone that Clint wasn't all that great to start with." 

That was Rams in a nutshell. Best in the business, and she'd make sure she proved it. Ramya was how old now, 64? Maybe a little less? The details were hard to come by, and he hadn't really seen her since... 

Not since... not since the Void closed. Renee always talked about finally stopping Singh. She found out the old scientist had died in their dimension, but kept hearing herself screaming in all the others. She had to go, had to fix it. And that was the last he ever heard from her. 

Maybe she settled down somewhere nice. Like this lodge, but in another reality. Their paths always did intersect, and maybe this was a way they could still be connected, even if for a little while longer. 

It was the afternoon now. Any other news his decoy relayed was washed out like sand in a river, water flowing backwards and forwards and into the sky, never to be seen again. A warm breeze brought the flowery fragrance of a nearby field into his kitchen. That same scent had been the first happy thing to roll in after Bloodhound's village burned down five years- 

A knock at the door. 

Elliott greeted his guest, "Path! Come on in, you bucket of bolts." 

A hug was exchanged, although, as usual, it was met with no warmth from the robotic frame. Still, the cloak he wore was soft and gave off the illusion of comfort. 

Groceries were sat on the table, and Elliott poured out some tea. As he heard the wooden floorboards give soft creaks towards the door, the old illusionist called out, "Oh, uh, leaving already? I mean, I know you've got places to be in town and all that. Honorary Mayor Pathfinder has a lot on his plate. But, would it kill ya to stop for a minute, shoot the breeze with an old friend? The town's not going to disappear over the course of an hour. At least. I hope it doesn't." 

They headed out to the porch and took their usual seats. Elliott sipped his tea and started the roll call, just like last week, "Got to thinking about Hound's village. Might hike out there tomorrow, leave some flowers at their memorial. I still think how they probably wouldn't have wanted one, but the town insisted. You remember the petitions? Heh, you sacrifice yourself taking out an entire battalion and couple of titans, you're gonna have a hard time avoiding honors." 

He raised his teacup, "To Valhalla. Or wherever it was they wanted to go." 

And so, as before, he recited his own toasts and tales of everyone that he and Path would've remembered from the games. Gentle winds pulled out an applause from the trees, and congratulatory whistles came from squeaks of the lodge as it settled. 

A week later, he finished while talking about Gibraltar, which always hurt the worst. 

"Damn quakes. Held back the rubble for three days. Out of everyone, I think that I think about him the most, you know? Even in his old age, he still had so much to give. I guess he ended up giving all of it." 

But this time, Elliott said a bit more than usual, "I don't think I've got much left myself. Never was the giving type, except for my fans, but I guess, those... are gone now. Most people are gone now. It's just me. And you, every now and then. I know you're here once a week. That's what the schedule says. It's what my holograms say, but... do you know what it's like to look at your face each day and know that you aren't seeing yourself?" 

"More than you know." 

"I got so old, so fast. Still pretty, or, maybe 'refined' is the word. It's like that killer robot used to say, like I'm living in a skinsuit. Ugh, still hate that word. But I keep seeing these, these, _these bastards_ -" he activates a decoy into a basic stance, "- and they look like me and talk like me and walk like me but they aren't _me_ at all. They don't... they don't forget anything. They don't lose stuff around the house. They sit there and smile and chuckle with a face that was never mine to begin with. I'm not really sure anymore what all is supposed to be behind that face now." 

Tears trickled down that face, bringing the river back from the sky if only for a moment. 

"I'm... not sure how much more I can lose. I came out here to get away from what I had already lost, but I guess I knew that I'd also be a loss for whoever was left if I stayed. It's my burden to bear, not to shove off onto someone else. I'm so damn scared." 

Revenant's voice came from under the hood again, "Do you want me to do it?" 

Elliott looked up, and what had always been Pathfinder's eye became less of a blur, revealing the two soft yellow eyes that had always been under the hood. 10 years tried to roll back. An accident. Not enough electricity. But... some memories forced themselves into obscurity. He saw a single eye again, didn't pay attention to depth of his guest's voice, and picked a happier present. 

"Have we... have we had this conversation before?" 

"I don't think so, but there's a lot of things I've lost too-" Syndicate tech only lasts so long, and even the most advanced communications degrade over time. He only knew this much: Loba started winning faster and faster, and eventually many of the deaths he so despised had drifted down the river. "- I can make it quick. And painless. I still have that much left." 

Elliott finished his tea and stared out at the swaying branches, letting his mind dissolve into peace. It was nice to choose to lose himself in the air, absorbing the fragrance of metal as he held his guest close. 

Revenant slowly creaked down the pathway heading from the lodge. So much about that visit was familiar, and the insight it brought him filled him equally with peace and dread, both flipping into frame and never really taking hold. 

When time overlaps itself, and you have a future as long as the past, where does anything really end?


End file.
